The Crow: Retribution
by CrimsonObsession
Summary: People once believed that when a person dies a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to set the wrong things right.
1. Prologue-Execution

2/10/2002-I'm actually writing again! For those of you who've been reading my Betrayal series, I WILL be working on the rest of Spectre. Put those sporks away. I just couldn't work on it yet, not after the cancellation. When I was watching The Crow with my stepbrother, and came up with this weird little thing, I thought it might be good to take a break from Spectre and the whole plot of The Crow is rather appropriate to what we're all trying to do, get Zim back. Keep filling out those petitions and writing letters to Nick and Cartoon Network, people, it's not over until the cute little robot sings the Doom Song! And a fandom can go on LONG after a show has ended. Look at the GW fandom, that show's been over for years. Or Sifl & Olly, the fans of which fought cancellation until they got more seasons and even a DVD and soundtrack release! It can be done. It may not be likely, and it definitely won't be easy, but it can be done.  
  
Okay, I'm done with the ranting. Enjoy this little thing. It's based more on the movie than the comic, because I'm more familiar with the movie, and I just preferred certain elements from it. Uh...I think that's about all I need to say. Bring the pain!  
  
Disclaimer (Don'tcha love these?): Invader Zim belongs to the Almighty Thinnest Jhonen Vasquez, and his army of doom-sporks, and, unfortunately for the rest of the free world, the beings of pure evil which reside at Nickelodeon. I do this only out of the deepest respect for the characters and the great, great mind that created them. I mean it. Vasquez, if you're reading...damn you're a genius.  
  
Oh, any characters NOT from Invader Zim, are mine. If Vasquez wanted to use them he could, but you guys aren't Vasquez, so ask first, please.  
  
The Crow belongs to James O' Barr, and the movie version belongs to...Crowvision? If it belongs to someone else, I'm sorry. Please don't sue me as I really do admire your work, am only doing this for fun, and am already up to my purple hair in debt. Thank you.  
  
Any reviews you give to me will pleeeee-ase Pustulio! Flames will be treated with the same loving care you would expect from Nny, and any survivors will be fed to my pet Velociraptor.  
  
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.  
  
But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it, and the soul can't rest.  
  
Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.  
  
-The Crow  
  
The Crow: Retribution  
  
(an 'Invader Zim/The Crow: The Movie' Fusion)  
  
Prologue-Execution  
  
He stood near the back wall, shaded by the overhang of the door frame, and stared at the stadium floor spread out below him. Hours ago the massive room had been filled to capacity. Triumphant shouts and angry screams had echoed off the smooth metal walls, reverberating until they formed an almost mind-shattering din.  
  
Now silence blanketed the stadium again, weighing heavily on his straight shoulders.  
  
He made his way slowly to the front of the convention hall, the click of his boots and slight rustle of his red uniform joining the lonely sound of his own uneven breathing. Past the rows of seats usually reserved for high ranking military officials, the lower ones for Irken citizens, and the open area at the bottom where the humans would stand, he finally came to the stage at the forefront of the hall.  
  
Ignoring the stairs at either end, he placed gloved hands on the center of the raised floor and pulled himself up till he was on hands and knees on the stage. Memories of another hall and an identical movement washed over him, and he gave a half-hearted curse. He would never have imagined his last audience with his leaders would've led him here.  
  
An overwhelming metallic scent hung in the heavy air. His gloves made a slight squishing sound as he pushed himself to his feet, and he could feel moisture starting to soak through them. Yanking one off, he rubbed it with his bare hand; the slender green fingers came away covered in glistening red. He looked down to find the smooth white tiles strewn with liquid crimson, the grisly residue of the executions that the stage played host to that afternoon.  
  
Executions of a dozen of the most influential members of the human resistance.  
  
The bodies were long since gone, taken to an impromptu graveyard on the outskirts of the city to be buried in shallow, unmarked graves. Their personal effects were seized the moment of their capture, and were probably scattered among the prison guards before the execution date was even set. All that remained of them was the scarlet pools staining the floor, and those would be gone when the clean-up crew got back from their break.  
  
"Zim." He turned at the sound of his name, following the harsh voice back to its source, an Irken standing in front of the stage, a bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk crossing his face.  
  
The Irken mounted the stairs to stand beside him, and Zim tried to ignore the unease that the other's towering presence always caused. "Sir."  
  
"I thought we were on closer terms than that, boy! Just call me Sid." He clapped a hand on Zim's shoulder, supposedly in an attempt to be friendly, and Zim had to force down the shiver that wanted to crawl up his spine at the contact.  
  
"Glorious show today, wasn't it?" Sid dropped the bag, not caring that it fell in a pool of blood, and walked across the stage to pick up a G'har-thet that had been left from the ceremony. The broad blade shone dully, the myriad prongs along the edge turned a dark scarlet by the blood caked on the metal. Zim watched without interest as Sid gripped the staff and executed a short series of slash and jab maneuvers.  
  
"I'm sure you enjoyed it most of all." The G'har-thet flew at Zim, and came to a halt with the tip an inch away from his throat. Over the blade he could see Sid, grinning cruelly. "Your greatest enemy finally defeated - it must feel pretty damn good."  
  
"Of course, Sir." Zim's voice was a monotone, his glare making it obvious he was anything but pleased.  
  
Sid lowered the weapon, but maintained the smile as he regarded Zim. After a moment he picked up the bag again, and pulled a roll of dark fabric out of it. When he finally spoke his words were tinted with mocking. "I still don't understand why you refused your right to his death, but I thought you might like a little trophy at least. I got this from one of the boys."  
  
He threw the bundle at Zim, who caught it easily and shook it out to reveal a familiar black leather trenchcoat. Without a word Zim turned on his heel, tossed the coat over his shoulder and walked out of the stadium, not noticing the bloody marks his boots stamped on the floor, or the laughter that echoed behind him.  
  
_____  
  
Sid waited until Zim was well out of the room before he turned to the deep shadows at the back of the stage, waiting as an even taller Irken stepped into the light, revealing dark green skin and a heavily armored body. Sid smirked, the hand holding the G'har-thet resting on his narrow hip. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. "Well Dax, Sir, what'dya think?"  
  
A grin spread across Dax's face, though his eyes reflected no joy. "I think that the Invader has outlived his usefulness." A cruel glint began to burn in his red eyes, as he reached into a pocket under his chestplate and pulled out an old radio, charred and dented but obviously of human construction.  
  
"Sid." His second-in-command saluted, awaiting the orders the harsh snapping tone precluded. "New evidence has just come to light. It seems that Zim has been in contact with and is aiding the human resistance movement. It's a shame to see such a promising young soldier throw away his life like that." His tone was mocking as he tossed the radio to Sid, who caught it in his free hand. "Take care of him. I'll inform the Almighty ones of his impending execution." The cruel grin spread even farther. "I'm sure they'll be happy to hear such good news."  
  
_____  
  
Zim stomped into his small quarters and went straight for the bed, where he collapsed with an angry growl. He lay there for only a moment, staring at the purple-tinted ceiling, before he sat up. Draping his short legs off the side, he covered his face with his ungloved hand. The leather clad hand rested on the bed beside him, and he didn't notice or care that it smeared red over the fabric.  
  
"Yay! Master's home!" A silver blur slammed into him from a side door, knocking him back onto the bed. GIR hugged him painfully tight, planted a big kiss on his head, then jumped off the bed and walked towards the exit, humming happily to himself.  
  
Zim was wiping the remnants of some indiscernable foodstuffs off his forehead when he noticed that GIR was holding a small purple box. The thin metal thumbs were playing over its surface and the robot's eyes were glued to it. "GIR, what are you doing? What is that?"  
  
GIR didn't even glance up as he responded, voice in a trance-like monotone. "The gaaaame." Zim jumped up from the bed and ran over to GIR, snatching the box out of his hands. Closer inspection confirmed his suspicions; it was a Game Slave 3, slightly scratched and dented on one side, but the screen still glowed brightly, and a requiem issued from it when the pixellated hero was devoured by mutant wombats.  
  
An involuntary squeak escaped Zim's throat. "GIR, where did you get this?"  
  
"The pretty lady gave it to me!" GIR snatched the console back, and more music chimed as he began another game.  
  
"The pretty lady?"  
  
The little bot smiled a huge grin. "Yep! The pretty purple lady!" GIR was too wrapped up in his game to notice that Zim immediately paled.  
  
"GIR, we're leaving." The bot ignored him as he ran through several rooms, gathering items and stuffing them in a black bag slung over his shoulder. After a few minutes of running around, Zim paused again in the bedroom. A frown crossed his brow before he lifted the trenchcoat from where it had fallen on his bed. He looked at it with almost reverant awe, and more than a little fear, then sighed and stuffed it in the bag.  
  
That done he went over a short mental checklist. Satisfied he had everything he'd need, or at least those things he could carry, he grabbed one of GIR's hands and dragged him to the front door.  
  
"Are we goin' for a walk, Master? I wanna take Mr. Scolex Moose for a walk!"  
  
"GIR, no, we have to go, now!" GIR ignored him, tossed the Game Slave into his head, and pulled out of Zim's grip to run back into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately, clutching a squeaky toy moose.  
  
"Mr. Scolex Moose is ready!" Zim clenched his fists and growled in irritation, but stepped through the door leading out of his quarters. GIR hopped along behind him, singing the Scary Monkey song to himself.  
  
"We need to get to the docking garage and take the Voot Cruiser before they realize we're gone. GIR, I want you to-" He broke off suddenly as the sound of many stomping feet echoed from down the magenta hall, in the direction of the garage. "So much for that plan," he mumbled under his breath.  
  
With a push he sent GIR off in the opposite direction, and followed behind him at a run, trying to move quickly while remaining as quiet as possible. Surprisingly the little bot cooperated, keeping pace with his master and staying silent except for the occasional happy giggle. Zim tried several times to double back and make it to their ship, but each time they found the path ahead blocked by soldiers, guards who studied every Irken to walk by.  
  
After almost an hour of trying to make it to the Voot Cruiser, Zim paused in an alcove and leaned against the wall, panting. "GIR, we're going to have to go out the north entrance."  
  
The robot looked up from the moose he was playing with. If he still wore his doggie disguise, his ears would've perked up. "Are we gonna go visit the humans?"  
  
"No, GIR...I don't know. I don't think they'd be pleased to see us. We have to try and avoid them, if we can. If they find us..." he trailed off, a shadow creeping behind his magenta eyes. Almost to himself, he mumbled, "after the deaths of two of their leaders, I don't think they'll be exceedingly friendly to any Irken they come across." And with that he headed north, GIR skipping along behind him, towards the only way out.  
  
Graffiti decorations  
  
Under a sky of dust  
  
A constant wave of tension  
  
On top of broken trust  
  
The lessons that you taught me  
  
I learned were never true  
  
Now I find myself in question  
  
[They point the finger at me again]  
  
Guilty by association  
  
[You point the finger at me again]  
  
-"Runaway", Linkin Park  
  
__________ 


	2. Chapter One-Resurrection

2/16/02- WHEE! More fic! Thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter, and unparalleled thanks be to my betas, TD and Amethyst Soul, for their unending aid. Also to Idgiebay, who did an exquisite PIC to go with this fic! I can't thank you enough!!! I'll post the address of the pic in the next chapter. I'm gonna go watch The Truman Show again. You guys enjoy the fic! Bring the pain!!!  
  
Disclaimer: None of the characters from Invader Zim, or the concepts of IZ or The Crow, belong to me. For full disclaimer, see the prologue.  
  
__________  
  
Chapter One-Resurrection  
  
__________  
  
"Sir?" Sid stalked into Dax's control chamber, the base from which he ruled the conquered planet Earth. Since Zim had finally taken over, several years after he arrived on the planet, it had become part of the Irken Empire, and as always the habitation of the planet was quick and efficient.  
  
But the Almighty Tallest never expected Zim to return from his mission, let alone succeed. The planet was too far away from their borders to waste good manpower or any useful member of Irk's political body. So they populated the planet with people they didn't want around Irk.  
  
The Tallest left them to their own devices, not even bothering to rename the planet in proper Irken style. The main occupation force was comprised of rogue soldiers, Irkens who were more mercenary than loyal.  
  
And at the head of them all was Dax, with Sid as his loyal second-in-command.  
  
Sid crouched into a slight bow when he found Dax staring out the window at the blasted landscape. "Sir."  
  
"Did you take care of him?" The voice was cold, and Dax didn't bother to look at him as he spoke. Sid's antennae fell back against his head, submissive.  
  
"No, sir. We've searched the entire base, and didn't find a trace of him or that psycho robot."  
  
Dax was silent for a moment. Every instinct was screaming at Sid to avert his eyes, to pacify his leader, but he was afraid of not seeing what might be coming.  
  
"Is his ship still in the docking bay?"  
  
He stifled a sigh of relief. Dax's tone was curious and irritated, but contained none of the pent-up fury that had been the death of several of their soldiers in the past. "Yes, sir. All ships are accounted for. He didn't make it out that way, that's certain."  
  
A dangerous smile played at the taller Irken's lips. "Which means he's out there."  
  
Sid smirked as well. "We'll find him soon. And if we don't..."  
  
"The humans will."  
  
_____  
  
Zim growled as a branch smashed into his face, for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Blasted stink planet! Is everything in this wretched place out to get me?" They were traveling through a forest, one of the very few left within a thousand mile radius. GIR was skipping ahead of him, slipping between the trees and bushes as if they weren't there, but with every step Zim had to force his way through tangled vines and undergrowth.  
  
They were less than an hour outside the Irken stronghold. At first they had made good time with Zim carrying GIR and using his mechanical legs to increase the distance between them and the towering buildings. It meant less physical exertion, but the mental strain of controlling the mech legs was worse. When they'd reached the dubious protection of the woods, Zim had all but collapsed. When they'd finally begun to move again the environment and his exhaustion forced them to continue on foot.  
  
"Master, the trees stopped!" GIR cried from somewhere ahead of him.  
  
"A clearing? Perhaps we can take a break..." The words died on Zim's lips as he broke through the trees and realized where they were.  
  
Before them stretched an expanse of nothing but dirt. Large stones littered the area in uneven rows, some bearing scrawled names, some pictures and even tattered photos, others unadorned. The ground was newly turned at the ends of the rows, marking twelve fresh spots that were bare of the large rocks.  
  
Wind whistled past the treeline, streamed over Zim's sensitive antennae, and cold sped down his spine. He finally picked up the sound of running water nearby, which only served to hasten the unease building inside him. GIR was suddenly somber, his eyes tracing a slow path around the stones. "I don't like this place, master."  
  
Zim licked lips that had gone dry. "Neither do I, GIR. Let's keep going. We'll find someplace further on to stop."  
  
_____  
  
She floated in darkness, surrounded by the overwhelming power of nothing. The pain had disappeared long ago. It was nothing compared to the agony that still burned in her mind, her soul. She had lost. She had failed. She hadn't done what she was supposed to, someone she needed to protect, she had messed it up, just as she screwed up everything for them. Who was it? Who was she?  
  
And out of the emptiness, a crow cawed.  
  
She had to follow.  
  
_____  
  
The graveyard was again undisturbed, the silence closing in the moment the Irken and his robot had left. Only the sound of the wind could be heard, as it picked up fallen leaves from the shadowed forest and carried them into the air. Not a single leaf landed on the ground of the clearing.  
  
Then the crow came, flying in from the south to land on one of the precious rock markers. A keen glassy eye surveyed the ground, pausing on each of the spots of freshly turned dirt. At the last, it gave a satisfied clack of its beak, and glided down. Pale sunlight brushed ebony wings as the bird landed, hopped across the recently dug area, and took its seemingly proper place at the head of the rectangle.  
  
Then it waited.  
  
It didn't have to wait long. Small scratching noises began to reverberate through the ground, growing louder and closer with every second. The bird leapt back with a squawk as a mud-streaked hand burst through the soil, followed by an elbow, another hand, a ratty mess of hair. The figure grunted as it pulled itself from the shallow grave, then flopped over to lie on the ground.  
  
The crow stayed at a respectful distance, eyes wary but frighteningly knowing. The figure lay there panting, now revealed to be a woman. She was too covered in mud, and something much darker, to distinguish anything besides sex. Finally she raised one grimy hand to her face, and her nose crinkled in disgust.  
  
She saw the bird, picked up the sound of water coming from somewhere behind it. Getting to her feet was in itself a task, and she wavered, unsteady, as she started off in the direction of the rippling, ignoring the bird, which squawked when she nearly stepped on it then hopped along behind her. She found a small river, shining in the fading sun. It was deep enough. She jumped in.  
  
Fingers worked through hair, revealing dark purple beneath the caked mud, ran over clothes, across skin. The water turned brown and then dark red, then clear again as the debris was washed downstream. When she was satisfied she climbed out and made her way back to the only place she remembered, the dirt she had just come out of.  
  
The crow flew ahead, and landed on the plot next to hers. It beckoned with its eye and its cry. She sat at the head of the grave, and when the crow directed her, she placed a hand on the soft dirt.  
  
And she knew.  
  
Images flew through her mind, burning, screaming for attention, crying out to be known, to not be forgotten again. The boy with the dark hair and pale skin, the glasses and the everpresent trenchcoat, the cocky grin, the green-skinned alien, invasion, running and hiding and fighting, always fighting, to protect the boy, always to protect, the vulnerable, her responsibility, capture, pain, betrayal, anguish, interrogations, sharp metal, fists, blood, so much blood-  
  
She remembered.  
  
Twilight found her curled up on the still unmarked grave, hands over her head, voice quiet but dangerous telling the memories to stop. The crow watched and, when it was time, called to her. It beckoned, and she followed, into the woods.  
  
_____  
  
From the top to the bottom  
  
Bottom to top I stop  
  
At the core I've forgotten  
  
In the middle of my thoughts  
  
Taken far from my safety  
  
The picture is there  
  
The memory won't escape me  
  
But why should I care  
  
In the memory you will find me  
  
Eyes burning up  
  
The darkness holding me tightly  
  
Until the sun rises up  
  
-"Forgotten", Linkin Park  
  
_____ 


End file.
